Writing Prompts – Creative Copy Challenge #457

This is a writing prompt. Bet you can’t do it! Take the 10 random words below and crush writer’s block by creating a cohesive, creative short story! And remember: after (if) you finish entering your submission into the comment field, highlight your words and click the bold button to make them stand out and help you determine if you forgot any words. (If you’ve missed previous writing prompts, we BET YOU CAN’T do those, either.) NOTE: Our <b>bolding</b> plugin is gone, so you’ll have to put <b> before and </b> after each of your challenge words if you want them to stand out, but NOT REQUIRED THOUGH! Or, as cleverly done by a CCC-er you can CAPITALIZE the challenge words in your piece.

Postulate

Apprehensive

Onion

Squash

Florescent

Major

County

Fingernails

Hyperdrive

Dish

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Petri made a major discovery when he sneezed into his dish of jellied onion. He yelled for his wife, who came dashing in from their squash court, fearful that she were to be accused of some imagined wrong.

“Marta! Come see!”

She dug her fingernails into her palms, perhaps to counter the verbal onslaught Petri was about to launch. As she approached his workbench, she suddenly registered his smile and lack of consternation. She relaxed and trotted to his side.

The first thing she noticed was the fluorescent streaks on his obviously forgotten lunch. Immediately apprehensive, Marta couldn’t reconcile her husband’s pleased countenance with the knowledge that, somehow, she had served him spoiled food–again. Timidly, she asked what she was seeing.

“The trip to the future worked! My lungs are clear of the plague that I’d brought back last month!”

Marta gasped. “How dare you! I asked you to never use the HyperDrive after that. I told you I was close to a cure. I just needed the approval of the County doctor to purchase streptomycin.”

Petri hung his head in shame. Then, just as suddenly, he whipped it up in suspicion. “You liar. There is no way you could postulate a cure from a substance that wasn’t discovered until 60 years from now!”

We are put in boxes meant to define. Experts postulate our year of birth destines us to become cookie-cutter characters, like some cosmic joke of creation. If we are apprehensive about our future, we need only consult our destiny. Or so one would think.

Do our life experiences shape who we are? Or are we tied to Stepford wife sameness beyond our control? If we peel back the onion called life, are we really mass-produced? Do we squash the notion of a singular soul?

We search for florescent freedom to express what we feel inside. Yearning for that major breakthrough when we become our own. Instead others attempt to corral us onto a classless county of repetition.

Our fingernails scratch against the sealed box top in our effort to be seen. Our thoughts kick into hyperdrive as we struggle for a way out, lest we become the bland serving on the dish of someone else.